Starstruck

Tonight at one of the local bars, I had something happen that's never happened before, and it was FUCKING HOT, and I feel really surreal about the whole thing, like it doesn't seem real, but I'm quite certain it happened, and it's just not possible with the way it went down, that this is somebody playing a prank on me or some cruel game kind of ha-ha thing. It was... intense. It was an ego-boost of enormous proportions. It was a sexual and erotic thrill that's really hard to explain, because it was not just about the "I read your Scruff profile" version, it was the "I've read the blog, and you're the top I've always dreamed of" version. I face-fucked my first fanboy. 

This guy is clearly a little altered, being swept along in a group of people because the bar is crowded and you move or you have to get out of the path. He looks at me and reaches out his arms and says, "Why do you have to be so handsome?" and grabs my head with both hands and kisses me passionately as he's being dragged past. I honestly wonder if he's on molly; it has that sense of overwhelming adoration that I see with guys who are rolling -- they just want to love and touch and dance and hug. I feel like he just shines a beam of that on me, like I'm being intensely adored. Then the crowd sweeps him away and I don't see him again for a while. I don't remember honestly how long; I'm enjoying some cat-and-mouse games around a particular hot Latino, and maybe if I end up getting his permission, I'll write that part up later... but I don't think TOO much about the hottie who made out with my whole face en passante, although I would occasionally scan the crowd and see him with his friends. Cute guy. Maybe he's in his thirties? Maybe it's late twenties? His body is really fit - like fitness magazine model fit. The open collar of his buttoned knit shirt shows the tattoo that arcs across his chest. He's really pretty. I say to the other Daddy type who's standing next to me but did not get the drive-by smooch, "Hey... a hot guy just made out with me and asked me how I could be so handsome. He's probably REALLY fucked up on some kind of drug, I'm guessing Molly. But... holy fuck, did you SEE him? I'll take it." And we laugh, because, well, DAMN. It kind of made my night. 

But, then... the Universe has apparently decided that I've been a good human in some way, and to give me a special treat. He walks back up, and introduces himself by his first and last name. He says he's my biggest fan. This this handsome and fit young man has been reading and following and jerking off to my writing, and we've had some conversations over Grinder and then WhatsApp texts, so that when he gives me his number, our prior conversations and the photos of him popped up, and I realize, Oh, FUCK, it's a guy I had thought was so hot he was somehow unreal, like the kind of guy who seems hot and into what you're asking for, but then I somehow talk myself into believing that I'm just not up for the emotional load of rejection or whatever, and I don't pursue. Yeah, I'm aggressive and I'm forward, but I'm also still emotionally vulnerable, and I'm realistic about where I am, hot-guy-wise, and this guy had come up to me and told me that he wanted to just do whatever for me, do anything, is there any way he can get my dick in his mouth, he's been dreaming of this for a year, please, Sir, I want to serve you. 

HOLY FUCK, y'all. 

I tell him that one thing I always wanted to do with the pictures he had sent, was put a handprint on that firm buttock, and I ask if he'd pull his...  and before I get through asking, the shorts are pulled down and there's pale asscheek ready for the spank, and I spank and pull the shorts up, and explain that I want to wait a minute for the print to rise, and  then we go outside for better lighting because the light in the bar isn't flattering to the handprint. 

It's like the shooting star from those "the more you know!" shorts.

Then he takes me behind the dumpsters, and kneels down, and takes my cock in his throat. He's effortless - I can fuck his throat without him gagging, and I can hold my cock full-depth and he knows to massage the glans with swallowing motions, to choke on it again and again. We go at it a little while. It's definitely not aimed at being a blow-job; there is pretty much zero chance that I will get off, because I'm on alert to make sure we're not getting caught, and I told him all this in advance... but I'm enjoying his submission, putting him through his paces, testing his skills and checking out his style. We both know that this whole experience is about making a connection, not about having sex. I have this stunningly hot man kneeling at my feet and telling me that I'm the top he's always dreamed of... it's hard for me not to feel like I'm hallucinating, or like someone's playing a trick on me, in the corner of my mind... but the main stage of my mind has a brass band playing, saying somebody literally enjoys the way I express myself in my writing and the sexuality that I express in the videos I have made or the paragraphs I've written... and he wants to be part of it, too. And he looks like he could do print modeling for fitness equipment sales, and we'll see how much I get to say about what he does for a living, because reasons. 

We talk about his submission, which is really intense - he bucks like a stallion when I try to take control of his breathing rhythms, and he tells me that he's an alpha male, that's part of what he does for a living, but I'm what he wants for his alpha. And I don't want to confuse anyone - I don't think he or I either one have a delusion that sex between us is romantic, he's not becoming some kind of pack member, but there's definitely a different level of engagement when you've read several thousand words of somebody's writing, and you want to be an art piece. We talk, and kiss some; I press his jugulars gently, and we both know what I'm doing, I'm not trying to choke him out, I'm just trying to give him the sparkles. We talk. He keeps wanting my dick in his mouth some more... like he is having trouble saying goodbye to me, but especially to my penis. I'm not going to disagree with him. 

Eventually, we do pull ourselves together and walk into the main part of the parking lot, and we stand and visit for a bit there - him, shirtless, me, in a tank top, with one arm raised so he can roll his face in my musky underarm until he smells like me all over his skin... more about how it's not necessarily about being an alpha... about being strongest... but about being able to accept the submission of whoever it is that needs you to be the dominant one. Because it's almost never about sheer physical strength; it's about choosing to cede control, about surrender, about letting someone. I put three fingers in his mouth, holding them in his throat. I hold for a while, making the point that I need him to relax, to trust me... he finally does, and we play together there for a bit. I tell him (demonstrating as we're walking) that one of my favorite scent-marks is to get some underarm funk, like this, with my finger and thumb, and reach up and get the boy by the nasal cartilage, like This. I reach right into his nose, gripping the septum firmly and making sure the scent transfers. It's such an intimate invasion, such a visceral infusion into the boy's senses - I will be there in every bite of food he tastes, probably for at least a day. I am pretty rank by this point, from all the throat-play and spanking; sex play always makes me extra musky. He tells me that he's a real person, that he's got words and feelings, but I keep turning him into a pig. I tell him he's a very sexy little piggy. 

And then, we go inside. He gives me a deep kiss goodbye. He meets up with his friends, and they get together and go. They go to the next bar, or home, or wherever they were trying to go before he got distracted and rocked my world. 

So - thank you for that, Will. It was... stellar. Absolutely. I feel ten feet tall. It still feels like an act of imagination rather than an actual happening,